


Four Can Play This Game

by CelticArche



Category: And Then There Were None (TV 2015)
Genre: Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, F/M, M/M, Smoking, Somebody Lives/Not Everyone Dies
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-14
Updated: 2016-04-14
Packaged: 2018-06-02 04:56:38
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,646
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6551926
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CelticArche/pseuds/CelticArche
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>I've seen several Vera/Philip escape the island together fics. I wanted one with Blore and Armstrong also escaping the island. So I wrote one.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Four Can Play This Game

**Author's Note:**

> Beta'd by cephalopod_groupie.
> 
> I tried to combine elements of both the book and the miniseries. I also tried to stay as in character as possible. This fandom is Very Small, and I felt a new fic was needed.

Armstrong watches Blore storm past Lombard and Claythorne. The couple appears startled by the former police officer’s outburst. Armstrong knows something they do not. He debates with himself for a moment, before muttering something about not letting each other out of sight at the couple, and follows Blore.

Blore is already half way up the stairs by the time Armstrong get to the bottom. Armstrong follows as quickly as possible, but not quick enough to get to Blore before he makes it to his room. He is, however, quick enough to literally get his foot in the door before Blore closes it. Blore opens his mouth, but Armstrong puts a finger to his lips to silence him.

Armstrong pushes his way inside Blore’s room, closing the door behind him. He throws the bolt, and turns the key. He glances around Blore’s room, before moving to close the balcony doors and draw the curtains.

“What are you doing?!” Blore puffs up in anger.

“Ssshhh!” Armstrong stalks back toward the other man. “Lower your voice, be quiet!”

Blore’s wide eyes narrow, giving the sharp cheekbones and slash of a mouth more prominent play. “What’s all this about then?” He whispers.

Armstrong whispers. “There’s five of us still. You and I can still get off this island, if we’re smart about it.”

Blore is guilty of murdering Landor. But he is a former detective inspector, and he didn’t earn his promotions or his job through luck. “What do you mean, there’s five of us?

“Wargrave isn’t dead. He promised he’d help me get off this island if I helped him fake his death. So the real killer wouldn’t look for him.”

Blore stares at Armstrong. Two sets of footsteps pass in the hall, followed by two doors closing. Most likely Claythorne and Lombard. The house returns to silence before Blore speaks again.

“I’m not the killer, and if you’re not the killer, why wouldn’t you suspect Wargrave?”

“He’s a judge! A man in his position wouldn’t be the killer! I’m supposed to meet him tonight by the cliffs.”

Blore steps over to the desk, where piles of notes and papers lay. He searches through them, reading his own notes over again. His mouth turns down even more, if possible. He then tosses the papers down in disgust. He returns to Armstrong’s side to whisper.

“We’ll all have to go with you. Out a separate door, around the house.”

“Why? You’re the one that suspects Lombard and Claythorne of being Mr. and Mrs. Owen.”

“Because you don’t fake your death if you’re innocent! Something ain’t adding up right. And Lombard has a gun.”

“With six shots! More than enough to kill us!”

“But he ain’t gonna do it all at the same go, now is he? He might shoot you or Wargrave, but he can’t shoot me. And if he shoots me, that leaves you and Wargrave! _If_ Lombard is the killer. But there’s something ‘bout this fake death that ain’t right.”

There’s the sound of one set of footsteps going down the hall, quietly. Blore eyes his door suspiciously. The steps pass, and go down the stairs.

“Now, listen here. He’s going to get all suspicious if you don’t turn up. We’re going to go get Lombard, and we’ll all go down the stairs together. Then you’ll go out one set of doors, and he and I will go out the other.”

“And if Wargrave isn’t the killer?”

“Then his secret is exposed and we can work on finding out who is. Simple.”

“I still don’t believe a man in his position is the killer.” Armstrong whispers as Blore opens his door.

“Lombard’s suspected him. Seems to me the Irish bastard is a bit smarter than you, _Doctor_.”

Blore bangs on Lombards door, and there’s no answer. He moves to Claythorne’s door and bangs on it. Lombard opens the door, practically naked and gun in hand.

“Tubs, what’s going on?”

“Wargrave is alive. The doctor here says he was promised a way off the island if he helped the old goat fake his death. He’s supposed to meet the old man by the cliffs.” Blore raises his eyebrows.

“I’ll get dressed.” Lombard closes the door. Second or minutes later, he’s back, gun tucked into his pants and his shirt partially buttoned. “Let’s go.”

The three men descend the stairs, Miss Claythorne remaining locked away in her room. Armstrong picks up a candle, and heads out the balcony doors in the dining room. Blore and Lombard exit via the drawing room, carefully following the light of the candle.

Wargrave is standing by the cliffs, a candle having lit his way there. Armstrong approaches, his faith in the situation having vanished suddenly. His steps falter, and he pushes himself to keep going. He has no idea where Blore and Lombard are, if they even followed him.

“Ah, Doctor Armstrong.”

“Judge Wargrave. Any luck on identifying the killer?” Armstrong is glad his nerves are solid under the pressure of surgery, if not so well here. He does his best to hold steady

“I have some ideas, come here, let me show you something.”

Armstrong wishes there was some way to tell if Blore and Lombard were close, if they had followed instead of leaving him on his own. He approaches Wargrave. The old judge places a hand on his shoulder, and Armstrong feels himself being pushed toward the cliffs. Fear spikes strongly in his gut, and he fights to maintain his footing. A shot rings out, Wargrave’s hand falls, and Armstrong watches the old man’s body crumple to the ground with a hole through his head. Armstrong holds his breath, certain another shot will sound, and hit him. Instead he hears running steps and Lombard and Blore arrive. Blore turns Wargrave’s body over to look at it. Armstrong exhales. Blore checks Wargrave over this time.

“Well, he ain’t gettin’ up from this death.”

Lombard tucks his revolver into his pants. “It’s dark now. Let’s leave the bastard here for the night. Move him in the morning.”

Blore nods. “Least now we can all get a good bit of rest.”

“I would say we should have a party tomorrow, but we already did that. Didn’t we, Tubs?”

“Stop calling me that, I ain’t even fat.”

“Whatever you say, Tubs.”

They return to the house together, going upstairs by the light of Armstrong’s candle. Lombard goes to Claythorne’s room and knocks. He gives Armstrong and Blore a cheeky wink as he closes the door behind him.

Blore sighs. “Wish she weren’t the only lady here. She ain’t my type.”

Armstrong smirks. “Too feminine for you?”

“I ain’t no queer!” Blore scowls at him.

“You say that a lot for a man who says he isn’t one.”

“Maybe I jus’ don’t feel like sleepin’ alone.” Blore counters, setting his jaw into a stubborn challenge.

“Well, you could always sleep me, if you like.” Armstrong opens the door to his room.

“I ain’t no queer.”

“Alright.” Armstrong starts to close his door.

“Bloody bastard!” Blore hurries across the hall, slipping his wiry frame in the space before Armstrong can shut the door tight.

___________________

No one gets up early the next morning. Lombard and Vera are the first ones down to the kitchen. Vera makes coffee, as Lombard examines their stores. As the coffee has finished brewing, Armstrong appears in the kitchen. Several minutes later Blore also arrives, and Vera and Lombard exchange glances.

They eat and work on their story. The remaining men bring Wargrave’s body to the house, and the four of them ransack his room again. They find the draft of the letter, describing Wargrave’s intentions and motivations. Claythorne and Blore have to get between Armstrong and Lombard, as the doctor leaps for Lombard’s gun with murderous intentions.

“You can’t kill the old goat twice, Doctor! Calm down!”

Much yelling of threats and Claythorne actually crying later, and they’re all sitting on the floor of the hall, drinking brandy. Lombard has one arm around Claythorne’s shoulders. 

“At least we know the boat should arrive tomorrow.” Blore mutters into his drink.

“We’ve got plenty of alcohol to last us then. And I’m pretty sure we’re finally out of canned tongue.” Claythore says quietly.

“Thank God.” Armstrong says into his own glass.

By the time tea time has arrived, they’ve all agreed that it is better as brandy time. Supper is skipped all together, due to the remaining occupants of the island retiring, drunkenly, to bed.

_________

The last day on the island finds the four of them shushing each other as they try to pack quietly. Armstrong goes through the stores and locates an unopened bottle of mild pain killer. The four assemble around the bottle and watch Armstrong open in, then administer a dose to himself. Then Lombard takes a does before passing it on to Claythorne. Blore grumbles about being last, but Armstrong puts his hand over his mouth to silence him while pressing the bottle of medicine into his hand.

The four trudge down to the beach where they first arrived, dragging their luggage without much care. The boat arrives, and Claythorne is so hungover and exhausted that she really does cry, eventually falling asleep on Lombard’s shoulder as the boat takes them to the mainland. Blore sits with his head in his hands, while Armstrong chain smokes the entire way.

They’re forced to stay in the small town during the inquest, which is helped along by Blore’s cooperation with the local police and Wargrave’s damning letter of admission. Afterwards, Philip Lombard and Vera Claythorne disappear. William Blore returns to London and his allotment, and Dr. Edward Armstrong returns to his Halsey Street practise.

When The Blitz begins the following year, Blore and Armstrong mysteriously vanish. Two men fitting their descriptions arrive in the United States by the end of 1940.


End file.
